Queen of Swords
by DschingisKhan
Summary: When she was little, Taylor Hebert wanted to be a hero. Deep down, she might still. Instead of connecting to a Shard, she connects to the Throne of Heroes and begins to dream of swords.
1. Knife

#AN: This idea bit me and wouldn't go away until I did something with it. Don't expect updates in a timely manner. Don't expect a plan, for that matter: brains will be brains so thinking ahead might happen anyway, but I'm intending to approach this strictly as it comes rather than planning things as rigidly as I have with Loopholes.

* * *

Chapter 1: Knife

I died. In the locker. I know this for a fact, like you instinctively know where your hands are. But that's not important anymore.

...What, I got better!

Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. My first memory of _after_ was...

* * *

"Taylor!"

Ugh, five more minutes. Hours. So tired...

"Come on, you've got school in... Taylor? You all right, kiddo?" Dad's expression shifted from Exasperated Parent to Concerned Parent upon seeing me still in bed and checked out. School? I haven't had school in such a long time. Not since I... **pain**. Sudden, blinding, excruciating pain cut into the haze of my exhaustion. Not enough to wake me, but the pitiful whimper that escaped my throat must have gotten things across. "Oh, honey, you..." I vaguely felt him touch my forehead and jerk back. "You're burning up! Hang on, let me call in at work and get you to a doctor."

I'm not sure why that thought alarmed me so much, but I managed to weakly fumble out something about how I was just tired and needed to sleep it off. I didn't honestly feel feverish, so I think I figured he was just fooled by the warmth of my blankets. I don't know. But with the way our relationship was after mom, he folded with little effort, only going as far as extracting a promise that I'd call him if things got worse. With a tall glass of water and some painkillers on the nightstand, he was gone and I could- I was asleep before I even managed to feel happy about the idea.

And I dreamt of swords.

* * *

Taking the glowing steel tang in my tongs, I let it drop into the quench tank. Surely, surely this time...

...

...

...damn. Another disappointment. It had the shape. It had the appearance and size and weight. I was sure of that. More sure of it than of anything ever before. But it just wasn't right. It didn't have the right... gravitas. It's like it was... too young? It's a strange thought, but that's what my gut said. Regardless, it would never go with this sheath.

Another nameless blade, then.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and furrowed it in thought. Maybe I'm just out of practice. I'll need to make a lot more weapons before I can tackle that one. Absently, I throw the poor counterfeit out the window and let the blade bury itself in the ground.

I didn't want to deal with a failure right then, I had hit upon inspiration!

There was a story mom told me once, about a man named Gan Jiang who... made perfect swords for the emperor, but then they killed his wife, Mo Ye? Something like that?

 _No, no, that's wrong. It was worse. Much worse._ It was a far more tragic story, of that I was certain. My hands continued their rhythm, hammering out what I already knew deep in my bones to be a cheap counterfeit as I struggled to piece together the tale from my fragmented memory. But this time, unlike my clumsy attempts to forge that peerless golden blade at the edge of my unconsciousness, I had a good feeling. I knew, somehow, that _this_ was within my reach. I just had to finish the failure first - any less would be disrespectful to my craft - and I'd get it right next time.

Or the next time.

Or the time after that.

 _Whatever, I'm sure I'll remember how the story goes soon._

If I'd been ‹Awake› I might have questioned why that was even important.

* * *

You know how it feels when you sleep for way too long and you wake up hoping they got the number of the bus that hit you? Double it. Quadruple it.

My head was stuffed with cotton and I felt like I was I swimming in sweat. And I ached. My arms burned like I'd skipped leg day forever. Blearily, I threw the blankets off, shuddering as the clammy coldness of the late December air in a house trying to save money on the heating bill washed over my damp skin. Gross.

I cast a glance at my clock. Three in the afternoon and I'd fallen asleep at... okay, so it was really only eleven hours of sleep, I guess.

...It was a good book, don't judge me!

Swallowing a couple times to get assess the situation in my mouth, I grabbed the glass on my nightstand and chugged half of it before remembering the pills.

"May as well."

I shrugged and downed them with the rest of the water.

 _Maybe_ _they'll help with this headache._

* * *

I live for long, luxurious showers when I can. Sometimes, though, my body has other ideas so I went as quick as I could while still making sure to clean my hair well. It'd really suck to live down to the trio's jibes by _actually_ smelling bad.

By the time I felt clean enough to call myself human, my stomach was doing its level best to give lie to the notion, so I ambled into the kitchen and threw a bagel in the toaster. I think I drank like a pint of water by the time it popped up and I was feeling just a bit sloshy. Pacing myself will probably never be my forte, but I really needed it after all the work I'd done while I was asleep.

 _Jeeze, I guess there might be something to that old "sweat it out" idea._

With a **chunk** my egg bagel was toasty and the cream cheese was ready, so I tugged the silverware drawer open and grabbed a-

"Daaaaad!" I complained.

There were no clean butter knives. The _nerve_ of some people!

 _Fine, steak knife it is._

So I grabbed the steak knife and wow that thing was fascinating. The stamp said it was hand-forged and I could definitely see it. In my head, I had a clear image of the smith working. It was the last of a set of four and as unremarkable as its siblings.

"Ah, no!" I cried out in reflex as I realised what was coming next.

He didn't notice when he bumped the dial on the tempering oven. He was too tired, and the quality of his work suffered the consequences. Since the temperature was too low, the whole set was a bit far from the eutectoid temperature...

Brittle! The poor thing was brittle! My heart broke a little for this knife my... my m-mom and dad had received as a wedding gift from one of mom's colleagues. I'd have to be careful with little Tiny Tim. It wouldn't break in normal use, but any sudden impact or lateral torquing would be liable to snap it right off, probably right at the hand carved rosewood handle.

Carefully, almost reverently, I lavished my bagel with cream cheese and set it carefully next to the sink. If my stomach had had a tail (and, you know, was a separate independent entity resembling a dog) it would have been wagging: its gratification was literally right on the tip of my tongue when my thought process came to a screeching halt as my head whipped back around to stare at the knife again.

"Wait, what the hell was that!?"

* * *

I don't remember eating the bagel, but I know it happened at some point. Not important. The eggs I was planning to make as a chaser? Forgotten. The fact that I'd missed school on the last day before winter break? Probably for the better, honestly.

But no.

 _Somehow, I know the history of that knife. I know it in excruciating detail. If I had the tools, I could probably make it myself, right down to the flaws that made me feel momentary pity for it. This isn't normal, but I... how did I become a parahuman? **When** did I become a parahuman? Why?_

Maybe I was freaking out a little. I mean, powers, right? Every kid goes through a phase where they fantasise about being the next Alexandria. Granted, for half of them, it's largely in the time before they realise boys and girls are different. But even then, that phase for me ended years ago. First order of business then: suppress!

 _I... sheets! That's right! My bedclothes are as gross as I was and maybe I should pick up some groceries for- oh right, I should call dad and tell him I'm awake and getting much better and_ definitely _normal and not some kind of... Thinker, I guess?_

Yeah, I was off to a good start. Idly, I noted I wasn't getting any flash of insight from the phone receiver or the Rolodex, so maybe it was just my imagination running wild after that...

 _Come to think of it, I feel like I had an important dream? Or not?_

... after last night. For some reason.

I might have even doubled down on that conclusion if everything fibre of my being wasn't completely certain that the history I now _knew_ of the knife was a matter of fact, as though it was recorded in my very soul.


	2. A Bureaucrat is a Bully in a Suit

#AN: Quite suddenly, I found myself itching to write this. It's been a long time coming, helped not the least by a new Monster Hunter (Not as good as Gen or especially 4, but still worth a couple-hundred hours. :V ).

I think I said before that I was coming into this without a plan as something of a challenge for myself and I think it shows. The result is... well, I have mixed feelings on it, but it made sense as I was writing. Still surprised me.

* * *

Chapter 2: A Bureaucrat is a Bully in a Suit

I remember that Winter break was weird for me. Weirder than usual even for Brockton Bay, a city practically inundated with parahumans. I think most of it came down to coping with the fact that I was now one of those parahumans, but with the distance of time, I wonder if the World didn't have more influence than I could have realised. After all, my luck is terrible!

* * *

Two weeks.

Two whole glorious weeks without the torment of Celaeno, Ocypete, and Podarce.

And damn if it didn't jump by in a flash.

I mean, it always does, of course. When has winter break ever been long enough for any kid?

But for all that it felt short, I think I got a lot done. Once I got over the shock of being... some sort of parahuman, I brushed up on the locals just in case, figured some things out, and took up running. I don't know why I was so restless, but my long circuitous route through the docks had me shaping up quickly. As all good things must, though, I bedded down for the coming of school in the morning.

Winslow.

Those harpies.

* * *

The forge was cold. I was feeling far off my game and nothing I tried to make was coming out right. Tired of working my hands to the bone and coming out with blades even more pitiful and less..."namey"... than usual, I decided to pick up one of my "rainy day" projects.

So there I was, carefully work-hardening a giant sheet of bronze with a hammer.

See, not all swords are made of steel, and it's always worth remembering the lessons of the past lest we relearn them at cost. So naturally, I have to learn the material and this was just sitting around my workshop for who knows how long? Weeks? Months? May as well have been 3000 years, for all I could remember.

The process takes hours, so it's not weird that my mind wandered. It wasn't even one of those weird things where you start at cheese, take random trains of thought as they come up, and end up at thrust bearing applications. No, I was thinking about bronze whilst working bronze. There was a period of human history called the Bronze Age. The Hellenic Greek pantheon rose during this period. Homer wrote the Iliad. And in the Iliad, we have a reflection of the collective values of the society for which it was written.

All I'm saying is it's not weird at all for me to be thinking that Ajax was the only good guy! He was in all the major battles and held back from killing as a point of pride. Everyone else has a small army of murders. Ajax was the ultimate shieldbearer. I wonder why they covered the bronze in ox hide, though?

My hands wandered after my mind and the next strike showed why that tool is sometimes called a "thumb detector"...

* * *

I jerked awake. Disoriented, I cast about for my glasses so I could read the time. My thumb... throbbed...?

Or not?

"I feel like I should at least be saying 'ow' or something."

The mist of my breath in the stillness of pre-dawn Brockton Bay. I glanced over at the cheap digital alarm clock.

5:22

Eight minutes before my alarm.

Damn.

I didn't feel fatigued, it's just the principle of the thing, you know?

I grabbed my glasses and fell into the beginnings of what was fast becoming routine, pulling on my shabby sweats, getting out the front door, and hitting the ground with an easy gait. I'd have to cut it a bit short, but...

 _Or maaaaaaybe I can push myself a bit and do the whole route?_

It was a bad idea. I'd build up lactase and cause cramping, or however that works. I'd run so hard I'd puke. I'd be late for sch-

I couldn't help snorting at that.

"Right. The hell do I care about that shithole?"

Sorry, mom. I think you'd have home schooled me if you saw Winslow. A fine institute of learning... it is not.

More importantly (sorry, mom), I was confident that I could do a 40 minute route in 30 minutes. I wasn't sure why. I didn't need to and had just established that I didn't care if I was a few minutes late anyway.

But there was something seductive about the challenge once I'd pointed it out to myself.

I slowed to a stop and stretched, limbering up a little more.

 _So I'm doing this. Am I doing this?_

I took what I thought was a decent approximation of a runner's starting position and paused.

"Let's do this."

With a whoop, I was off like a shot. It wasn't a flat-out sprint, but it was definitely a run, not a jog.

I grinned. I could have gone faster if I wanted.

When I finally stumbled into the house and shucked off my shoes to throw back some water...

"No way..."

The time on the microwave? 5:56. I ended up out the door at around 5:30 and didn't start pushing until a few minutes had passed.

Owlishly, I stared at the seven-segment display until it flashed over to 5:57.

 _I wonder if we have a stopwatch around?_

* * *

The shower gave me time to really process what had happened. It was... kinda big, after all. With the water sluicing down around me, I looked at myself critically.

Long gangly limbs, the barest hint of something resembling muscle tone, the best I could possibly expect after less than two weeks of easy jogging in the morning.

The best I could possibly expect as a _normal_ person. But for a _parahuman..._ I recalled the sensations, the feelings I had on my little jaunt.

 _It really_ was _just that to me, wasn't it? Just a little jaunt, a "wee bit 'o moving aboot."_ I was so distracted with the implications of _knowing_ I could have gone faster that I didn't even really enjoy my shower.

Washing your hair with cold water sucks even if it's supposed to be better for it.

...Yes, yes, I do love my hair, but there are some lines you just don't cross, and hot showers are not even remotely negotiable.

* * *

Breakfast was an uneventful affair. Dad fretted about whether I was safe running at the ass crack of day, I told him was was getting pretty fast already and was confident I could get away from trouble. He looked dubious but let it go.

Normal teen/parent interactions. I think?

One bus ride later and I was there. The moment of truth.

 _Will I be like the Boreads or am I destined to play the role of Phineus?_

Dramatic? Maybe. But anything to take my mind off of what I knew had to be coming. As I slunk into the main building of Winslow - itself a relic of brutalist architecture that I felt sure was originally intended to be a prison before they decided to attempt education there - I was on high alert for the usual tormenters, but I wasn't seeing them. If my past luck didn't indicate that this was merely setup for something worse, I'd think the universe had granted me a boon.

My first stop was my lock...err, what in the world? I froze stock still, taking in the not-quite-literal crime scene before me as a few indignant squawks of outrage washed by me from people who apparently couldn't be bothered to watch where they were going.

"What the in the world?" I unconsciously gave voice to the thought again, it was so baffling.

There was a weird stain on the floor in front of my locker and the area was cordoned off. Something smelled...off. Literally and figuratively. Oh, and there was a big biohazard sign on the door of it.

 _This... this bodes ill._

I decided to just carry my books with me.

Yeah right, like I could get that lucky. There was an authoritative clearing of throat behind me and I was suddenly aware of the scrutiny of the whole crowd. I sighed and turned around, standing eye-to-forehead with Principal Blackwell's brow. My gaze flicked down to meet her eyes and, as expected, saw no sympathy; only flinty anger. By this point, I knew better than to think it was directed at anyone but me.

Really, you cannot even fathom how unbelievably shitty my luck is. It's the stuff of _legend._

"Miss Hebert," she greeted curtly.

"Missus Blackwell," I nodded cordially. It was all going to go pear-shaped, but damned if I was going to be the one who made it a farce from the start. It'd be just horrible for her to lose out on that valuable practice. (You might be noticing at this point that I don't exactly have the highest opinion of that mealy-mouthed, victim-blaming, asswipe of a non-educator. Not sorry and not sorry about it.) I continued, blandly pretending I didn't know where this was going. "Looks like my locker's been vandalised again. Worse than the last time." If it was possible for real people to get those hilarious vein bulges that indicate anger in comics, she'd have one covering half her face.

"My office. Now, Miss Hebert," she clipped out with the barest semblance of civility. She didn't even look back to see if I was following as she turned on heel and marched off to her lair. I sighed again, shrugged, and plodded after her, keeping the pace easily.

That was the point at which I realised that I was standing straight, not hunched over and defensive for the first time in... a while. I figured a bit of fitness and a reprieve from torment was to blame. Might not be healthy to continue, but it felt nice, neatly towering over most of the student body for once. She lead me into her office, I closed the door and sat as she motioned. For all that I expected this to go horribly, I knew I was innocent. I always was. She sighed heavily, sounding as exasperated as I felt, and took her own seat. How would she open this time?

"What are we going to do with you, Miss Hebert?"

"Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"All these baseless accusations of bullying, your delinquent work, poor attendance, and now this."

"This?"

"Of course, this! This isn't just a harmless prank or something that only affects you! This was practically bioterrorism!"

What. Just... full stop, what. No way I'm letting that pass uncontested.

"I'm sorry ma'am, correct me if I'm wrong, but... are you suggesting _I'm_ responsible for vandalising my own locker?"

"Of course! We have witnesses that reported it and the awful smell!"

No, details, woman!

"Forgive me, before you go blaming me for this, can you at least explain what I'm being accused of? Because I'm really confused at this point."

"Defiant to the end, I see. Fine. On the morning of December 20, two girls reported seeing you suspiciously shoving a bag filled with bizarre liquid in your locker and fleeing the scene. Shortly thereafter, people began reporting nausea from the stench and a staff member used the master key to open your locker and discovered a truly vile concoction of bodily fluids and used feminine hygiene products." She blanched. Hell, _I_ blanched. That sounded _disgusting._

But it wasn't me. And even bad luck couldn't make up for the opening she left me.

"I'm not going to ask who reported it. I don't really care. You probably want to get them in here for lying, though."

"Miss Hebert! I don't think you appreciate the gravity of your situation. I have half a mind to petition for your immediate expulsion and advise the superintendent to press charges."

Just when I think this situation can't surprise me further with its consistent awfulness, here we are.

 _Actually, why_ are _we here? Fuck this, I'm a parahuman now. I've got a gimmicky power and I don't really understand it, but I could still be a hero and make a difference. I'm so done with this shit._

"My 'situation', _Principal Blackwell_ , is you're trying to force me to capitulate to your unilateral judgement because you are so hopelessly incapable of doing your own job that you take any word at all as long as it's not mine because if you were to accept that I might not be lying constantly and consistently, you might have to put in an effort to unravel the truth of the situation! But no! You didn't pick up on my incredulity at your accusations, you never once considered why I might be consistently reporting the same kind of bullying even though you told me I was lying, never _once_ followed up to see if there was anything going on because obviously teenagers could never be so cruel as to collectively isolate and abuse one of their own!"

Ah, now she looked pissed.

"Miss H-" Yeah, no.

" _Even setting aside_ your obvious bias against me, the flimsiness of the evidence you've described, and the lack of any motive I can possibly think of for doing something like that to my _own_ locker, what you describe is a logical impossibility simply because vandalising my locker would require me to have been at school that day. Unless you're suggesting my father is _also_ a liar and supporting such a disgusting incident?"

I finally stopped to breathe and noticed I had stood up at some during my rant. My hands were flat on the desk and I was glaring at her with venomous ire.

"Without checking attendance, without checking surveillance, without even checking if the two girls you mentioned had any business being up there or not, you decided I was guilty simply because you've decided I was guilty in the past. Your lack of dedication to the cause of executing your position sickens me more than the thought of how grossly you're willing to miscarry justice to avoid the work incumbent on your position.

"What is it that's primed you to consistently throw me under the bus anyway? I've never changed my story and I really have nothing to gain by lying. Jeeze, the last time my locker was vandalised, my school books were ruined and my flute - one of the few heirlooms I had of my mother - was stolen and... and defiled. And I was blamed for that too!

"You and your school are a disgrace and I'd love to walk away without regrets." I had been slowly leaning forward, a viper poised to strike. I eased back and sighed. "Unfortunately, I loved my mother and respect her memory enough to continue with my futile attempts to receive an education from this dump."

That... was more draining than I expected for how long it'd been building. Shorter, too. I was pretty confident that Dad would still be going for another ten minutes had he been in my shoes.

I reigned in my heavy breathing and my temper and took my seat again, folding my hands in front of me on her desk as though she was visiting my office instead. Pinning her with a long stare, I had to admire what I'd wrought. Her eyes said she was nearly apoplectic, but her mouth gaped like a fish, and it almost seemed like her face was trying to redden and pale at the same time. In retrospect, it was pretty funny, but at the time I was calm and focused. Shaking out the anger left me with a peculiar clarity.

"Now that I've done something worth punishing, what can we do to resolve this situation, _Principal_ Blackwell?"

"You expect me to just roll over and let you slander me, young lady?"

"Spare me. All I expect is for you to _do your job_. Cripes, in this case, I've done half of it for you if you'll think about what I said."

"You're only making it worse on yourself!"

"Worse!? How could it get any worse? You've already threatened expulsion and litigation!"

"I've looked at your records, Miss Hebert. You'll have a hard time if you don't shape up and fix your grades!"

I couldn't help it. That was just so far outside of my expectations, I laughed. I collapsed on my arms and nearly bashed my head on her desk in the process of doubling over. I looked up and the confusion on her face pushed me over again. My abs hurt.

"You... you... " I gasped, "The _irony_ is just..." It hurt to keep giggling like this. Still, way too good. I might have been laughing longer than I was ranting; even now, I'm still not sure. I groaned, feeling clearer still. "Ooooh, thank you. Thank you sincerely, I haven't laughed that hard since..." Emma. Mom. Sleepovers and cookies and... I could feel my mood darkening rapidly. Damn. Now I was the one with the complicated expression between frown and smirk. I forced a tight smile. "It's been a while, in any case. You don't even know why that was funny, do you?"

"Well, go on, then." She sounded resigned.

 _I guess I broke her._ It wasn't something I set out to do; it just sort of... happened. I sighed. _Just my luck to accidentally bully the person who's supposed to deal with bullying._

"It's like this: We are in Winslow Public High School. Winslow primarily services the North and Northeast communities of Brockton Bay. These are poor areas and it shows in the student body, many of whom are unabashedly parading the halls in gang colours. Most of these kids have no interest in their education or their future outside of contributing to the criminal element of the city. I won't lie, I don't envy you your nominal position.

"The funny thing is how you switched from demonising me, one of the few pupils here who _is_ interested in education and making something of herself, as though I'm a common thug to then raising concern about my grades - which only started to slip after I started reporting bullying, I'll note - as though that's a common thing here and you're actually an educator. The sheer _incongruence_ of it was just... irony. The pinnacle of irony."

She gave me a peculiar look, as though she was seeing me for the first time. Was she surprised that I wasn't a moron? Whatever.

"So, setting aside the _crime_ for which I have the alibi of 'I was ill in bed when it happened', I will admit that I lost my temper, insulted you, and insulted the position you occupy. Seeing as I'm a historically unapologetic troublemaker, the correct course of action would probably be... in-school suspension?"

"What?"

"You dragged me in here to punish me, don't go trying to get out of it now! In fact, I'm such a persistent and insidious troublemaker that you should probably just make it a standing order for me to have ISS. Every day. For the rest of the year."

Her poleaxed expression will probably stick with me to the end of days. Incredible. She smoothed it into a thin-lipped frown as she tried very hard to intimidate me with her glare. Having _just_ trampled all over her, I was rather unimpressed, but I was willing to let her speak, at least.

"Miss Hebert, what are you playing at? If this is another attempt to mock this institution..."

"It does a fine job of that without my help, ma'am." Okay, _somewhat_ willing to let her speak. "The only thing I'm 'playing at' is _an education_. Nothing more. A peaceful school life with no chance my work will be stolen or destroyed by my so-called peers; a life where I don't have to shuffle which bathroom I eat in to avoid being accosted at lunch and covered in food; the _opportunity_ to rescue my grades from their free fall and make mom proud."

I held eye-contact for the whole spiel and there was a long silence as we stared each other down.

She blinked first, and closed her eyes to massage the bridge of her nose as though _I_ was the frustrating one. I rolled my eyes even though she couldn't see just on principle.

"Fine. Just... fine. I don't care anymore. You're willing to take that on your permanent record, sure. ISS for the next five months."

I get now that this sort of brinkmanship is how I roll, but I was confused at the time by how strong the impulse was. Confused, but way too caught up in the moment to hold back. I gave her a devil-may-care smirk.

"It _is_ kind of unfair, though. You no longer have to deal with what in theory should be the least-troublesome troublemaker, and I accrue a bunch of disciplinary records. So how about a wager?" She eyed me warily. I think she thought I was getting less hinged as we went. Maybe I was. I pressed on, "If I get straight-As in every class for the rest of the year, I get a clean slate. All my infractions get buried and you can pretend I'm just another of your precious few model students. I'll even let you call me a reformed delinquent if it helps you sleep at night." I looked up at the clock. Halfway through first period by now. Could I be arsed? Nah, not today.

"Miss Hebert." I paused halfway into standing up and looked at her expectantly. "Where do you think you're going?" I hefted my backpack, wincing slightly at the weight of every school book.

"Honestly? Home. To quote one of my favourite fictional teachers, 'all of this has wearied me beyond belief'. I'll spare you falling asleep on the spot but there's no way I'm hanging around here and possibly getting ganked for not actually suffering for the prank I missed two weeks ago. Just call it a suspension for my 'vandalism'; I'll get it cleared off in a few months."

I vaguely heard her sputtering attempts to call after me, but I was way too giddy to stay. The adrenaline high didn't properly wear off until long after I was on the bus and I properly took time to examine and recoil at my audacity. I'm not sure if I'd call it unfortunate or not, but I wouldn't really understand for a long time where I'd found all that backbone.

* * *

#AN: See what I mean? It's a good thing I didn't have a plan, because I think the characters just violently derailed whatever it would have been.


	3. Taylor's Bazaar Adventure

#AN: Continuing the trend of characters just sort of doing what they will, the day continues! And I didn't expect most of this!

* * *

Chapter 3: Taylor's Bazaar Adventure

Well, I had thought the rush wore off, at least. Once I got home, it was still pretty early in the morning and I couldn't sit still at all. Still giddy. Punch drunk, maybe. Either way, I couldn't stand being in the house any longer. So I grabbed a few things and left. I considered getting into my workout clothes, but the urge to wander was strong; my jeans and plain black hooded sweatshirt over a white and navy raglan tee would have to do.

I started walking in a generally southward direction, but quickly picked up speed and ended up jogging... for a while.

My mind wandered.

* * *

I stared at the plans, _willing_ them to change. They didn't, so it was going to have to be the old fashioned way.

It's easy to think that, because it's all grueling hands-on work, that the creation of a sword isn't something that really involves a plan. And to be fair, to the accomplished swordsmith, roughing out a half dozen close-enough-to-identical blades from nothing but rote muscle memory in the course of a week isn't unheard of.

But the good ones, the unique ones, the ones for which you're proud they're stamped with your mark... Err, okay, okay, so there _are_ insane hermit geniuses who can see the finished product in all its nuance in their heads and jump from "two ovals" to "the rest of the freaking owl" like it's no big deal. Anyway, where was I? Right, plans. For us mere mortals, drawings and notes and even scale models are kind of _de facto_ practice.

But what we do is as much art as it craft, and the place where plans meet reality is the forge. I have a lot of latitude to change things when it's just a drawing. And I'd need every bit of it for this... abomination.

About six feet in length with a 2:1 blade to hilt ratio. Swinging that monstrosity would have taken the strength of a draft horse. And the notes made clear it _was_ intended to be swung, though I couldn't imagine why: the "blade" was... like some sort of demented drill, this long spiral that formed a natural guard by virtue of being nearly six inches in diameter at the hilt and tapered evenly to a point. For some reason it reminded me of bone, which is decidedly not a metal. It honestly most closely resembled a jousting lance rather than anything a normal person would think of as a sword. As-drawn, it was pushing uncomfortably close to even my admittedly liberal notions of what a sword is.

On top of all that, it was ugly.

 _No,_ I decided, _this will never fly._

That was fine, though. Whoever left that in my shop (because it wasn't _mine!_ I could never come up with something so inane even in my most feverish of nightmares), I'm actually grateful: it gave me an interesting idea for a proper successor, a thrusting weapon that could be wielded in one hand for pinpoint strikes, similar to our modern rapier, but still much thicker. In truth, it would be a brutal weapon regardless of its size, the spiral flange curving down its length making it not unlike the spurs of an arrow upon pulling it out.

Yes, quite brutal.

But monsters walk the earth.

I stoked the fire and selected my stock. I had work to do.

* * *

The lilting strains of a busker brought me back to reality and it took me a several moments to get my bearings. These surroundings looked familiar...

 _Wait, this is almost the boardwalk._

Okay, I jogged for a _long_ while. Wow. As I drew close to Lord's Market proper, I took stock of how I was feeling. All thoughts of trying to remember what was so satisfying about that daydream fled my mind as I realised there was a pleasant burn in my muscles, but I wasn't breathing especially hard. Heart rate... elevated, but not racing. Body... not sweaty and gross.

 _Jeeze, how long can I go?_

Though it was still a bit early for lunch, thirst compelled me to...

...toooooo...

...to stop and gawk at a store display.

It was one of those "outdoor chic" places where everything they sold was barely practical and way overpriced. The sort of place _Emma_ would have taken me to, and I'd have enjoyed it even if I couldn't afford to buy anything.

But damn if I hadn't instantly fallen in love with that coat in the front window.

It was this long red number - a deep crimson, really, like freshly-spilt blood - that flared out a bit at the waist with a duster-style split. And though it didn't look like it closed all that well, being of the single-breasted style with only two buttons, it was at least a durable-looking material. It might even hold up outside.

Needless to say, I was really taken with the thing.

 _No good. I can't afford it and I can't justify dipping into savings. It's probably like a thousand bucks or something ridiculous. Right, no way I can afford that, nothing for it, time to walk away..._

With great effort, I managed to tear my eyes off of it and take a halting step back.

 _Okay, me, I get it. It's fantastically striking and I would love nothing more than wear it out of the store. But you must understand, nothing that nice comes cheap. So we can't._ I managed to jerkily turn my body part of the way with an application of will. _Pfft, arguing with myself in the first AND third person. Good job, me._ I must have looked hilarious as I navigated the treacherous waters of avoiding wanton consumerism. Then out of the corner of my eye, I caught the tag.

 _This is the universe mocking me, isn't it._ There was no question in my mind; just cold certainty.

$250

Marked down from $800.

 _Shit, I need to check my sav-_

That was when the noise and screaming reached my ear. It sounded like someone had a couple mopeds tearing up and down the way, being a bother. I tried to ignore it, but it was getting closer and... argh, so annoying! I tracked the sound as it came closer and when I judged the distance right I stepped through a gap in the crowd to stand in front of the ruffians that were disturbing my poor spending decisions, sending them a disapproving glare down my nose.

 _Seriously, isn't this the boardwalk patrol's job? Cow-_ That thought crashed to a halt as I noticed who precisely pulled to a pair of screeching E-brake stops a few feet from me. _Cow. I am a cow. Moo._

Of all the days to volunteer myself for the fucking Uber and Leet show. _What_ is _it with my luck?!_ I wasn't about to out myself before I even had an identity. Which left me, a relatively ordinary teen girl, against... well, calling them "supervillains" might be kind of a stretch. But "super-rascals" sounds really silly. Whatever, not important. I was facing down a cape duo by almost accident and it wasn't even noon. _If I live through today, I've earned that coat, I don't even care anymore._

In order to take my mind off of my swiftly rising panic, I sized up the one closest to me.

He was kind of startlingly... normal? Looking, anyway. Just a guy, maybe mid-30s, stubble that edged over from "roguish" to "unkempt". A touch of softness indicating a lot of time spent sedentary. Denim coveralls and a double whammy of shirt and hat coloured an eye-watering fire-engine red. The white "M" on it stood out in sharp relief. _"M"? Did they get a new member?_

Oh, and he had a ridiculous glued-on black moustache that didn't match his brown hair.

You can't forget that.

I know _I_ never will.

The other one... was honestly similar. Only green instead of red with an "L" on the cap - obviously, this was Leet. Taller and more collected than his compatriot, with a bit of definition to his everything, he looked like more of a "frat bro" or a jock than I'd have expected. No sign of Uber.

 _Right, focus. The situation is what it is. Now what?_ Since he looked like a normal dude, I decided to just treat him like one and pretend _really hard_ that all these people weren't scared witless.

This whole evaluation took a bit under half-second. Have I mentioned I'm a parahuman? I'll studiously ignore that I was only just discovering today that my mind could move like that, though after realising I had something like an innate feel for how people would move, I guess this wasn't much of a leap.

The one up front was first to pipe up.

"Hey, what gives! You got a death wish or something!?" He glared at me over the steering wheel, straining at the five point harness to emphasise that I was the one in the wrong. Maybe he thought I should have been more afraid, but case in point: I had seen from the movement of what torso was visible out the top of the go-carts and the subtle shift of weights that presaged their stopping the wheeled death machines they rode in. I was never in any danger to begin with because they were within inches of where I expected, having reflexively avoided vehicular(?) manslaughter through the weight of years of muscle-memory.

Yeah, maybe I was onto something with the "super-rascals" bit. I leaned forward and leveled him with an unimpressed scoff.

"I might ask you the same thing! I was having a nice day until you lot decided to raise a big fuss! Aren't you a little old for theses antics?"

"Antics? _ANTICS!?_ This is one of the greats! Are you telling me you don't know who we are?" I furrowed my brow as though in thought. I mean, I didn't get the joke they were going for, so it wasn't hard to pretend things were going over my head.

"A guy having a midlife crisis and his buddy who hasn't quite worked up to staging an intervention?" When I thought about it, that probably wasn't too far from the truth for guys that seemed like they could do so much more than stupid videos.

I could see Leet struggling to avoid laughing as M gaped at me like I was a space alien. Can't let him get the wrong idea.

"Hey, green guy, why didn't you just... like, go to a race track or something?" I smiled indulgently. "I get that hobbies and stuff are important, but you look more responsible than him; you should know better." The sound of the crowd was getting annoying. I blocked it out.

"Uh..."

"Dude, is this really happening?" M asked, craning his neck over to address his friend. "Like, she completely doesn't get it. She's not just making fun of us?" Leet looked at me funny and then back to M.

"Looks like it, bro." He was having a tough time keeping a straight face too. The crowd was getting restless and harder to ignore. I saw some of the boardwalk security cowards - after seeing those stooges up close, I decided my first impulse was the correct one - hanging around the edges. Leet noticed too, and suddenly looked really uncomfortable. "Shit, man, we need to get out of here before the PRT shows up. I think we have to use _That."_ Use what? Huh?

"But it hasn't been tested! I don't know what's gonna happen!" That sounded... bad.

"I know, but do you really want to get caught like _this!?"_

"Okay, okay, let's just hope this works!"

"Wait, what are you tal-" ***ZORTCH*** "-king about?"

That sound, of course, was the one the world makes when I'm suddenly alone talking stupidly to empty air in the ring of bodies that had formed around us. I stared dumbly at the blackened spots on the cement as the crowd closed in, the show over for the time being. One of the security goons came over and confirmed I was okay before berating me for getting involved in a Cape incident. I just shrugged and told him it wasn't intentional. What was his problem? That just made him mad and I was headed the same way when someone grabbed my hand.

"Mel, there you are, I told you to be careful! Are you okay?" A girl's voice. Aimed at me. But that's not my name... "Sorry, she's from out of town! Never guessed I'd lose sight of someone so tall, but what can you do?" I turned to look, and there was... the top of a blonde head brushing the security guy off. Adjusting my angle, and it was a petite blonde girl with her long wavy locks bound up in a messy bun. A dusting of freckles across her nose and vibrant green eyes rounded out her "hometown charmer" look.

 _She's...!_ There was a flash of recognition when I saw her, this nagging feeling of familiarity that faded as quickly as it came. _Why do I feel like I know her?_ The feeling bothered me, and fact that that fleeting moment was enough for me to let my walls down and play along bothered me. But I knew an out when I saw one, so I took it.

"Gosh, Tori, when you said the Bay is a nuthouse, you weren't kidding!"

"Melissa," she sighed, "what am I going to do with you?"

"Take me somewhere with tea next time, I hope?"

She grabbed my shoulder to pull my ear closer. "For the best entertainment I've had in months? You've got yourself a date."

"Sure, sounds good."

Wait.

Waiiiiiit.

Hold the phone.

What.

 _That's a joke, right? She's just fucking with me?_ I must have played my role perfectly despite (or perhaps because of) my realisation, if her peal of laughter was any indication.

Funny how a lack of malice makes that fun, playful ribbing instead of a hurtful barb that makes me want to curl up and die.

"Heh, you had me going there," I chuckled ruefully. "Lead on."

* * *

"Tori" was, it seemed, adept at navigating the press of bodies. Fortunately, my developing sense for "how things move" also applied here and I managed to match her pace, if not her grace. We finally ended up at a little coffee shop off the main drag with a weird German name that sounded vaguely familiar. It was quiet, though, and tastefully decorated. Most importantly, they had tea. And this fantastic raspberry tart to go with it. It was good enough that I could overlook the strong scent of curry that wafted from the kitchen.

What a roller coaster of a day. I looked at my watch and sighed.

It still wasn't even noon.

I looked across the small corner table at my "date" and studied her, trying to figure out... well, I honestly wasn't sure at that point. Something was strange, though. She raised an eyebrow at my scrutiny and I mirrored it. This earned me a grin that, these days, would have my instincts screaming as surely as if she had been the incarnation of some trickster goddess with more tails than sense. But given the way I handled the abuse heaped on me that entire prior year-and-change, I think we can safely say I was something of a social dullard at that point.

So naturally, I just plunged in unnaturally.

"So, 'Tori', if that is indeed your real name..." She grinned and shot back.

"Yes, 'Mel'?"

"Actually," I chuckled, "that's a good point: we haven't been properly introduced. I called you that because you reminded me of... someone... but now that I actually see more than the top of your head, you seem more like a... I dunno, Sarah?"

She coughed, nearly inhaling hot coffee.

"Wait, really?" _Going with my gut has worked surprisingly well today!_

I could see immediately that something had changed and my "luck" with that guess had been anything but. She looked... haunted. Like she was about to bolt. She recovered quickly and schooled her expression into a coldly neutral façade, but I knew what I saw. I'd seen it in the mirror often enough, after all.

She looked like me on the average day at Winslow.

I revised my earlier thought: _Going with my gut has worked very poorly today!_ I took a calming breath and forced a smile that I hoped didn't come off as condescending.

"... Or not. Sorry if I touched a nerve, there; it was just a guess. On bad terms with your mom or something, I take it."

"What?" Well, confusion was a bit better than concealed mounting panic.

"Even I can tell you reacted really poorly to that name and I figure that means it's like one of those things you see in stories where the kid has some fundamental disagreement with the way of life their parents have tried to force them into, but later on someone mistakes the strong family resemblance and calls out something like 'Elizabeth, is that you? It's been ages!' and then the character snaps back 'Elizabeth is my mother. Who are you and why haven't you dropped dead under the weight of my angst yet?' and... and if your bemused expression is anything to go by, I'm making kind of an ass of myself. More of an ass, at any rate. I'll just be cutting my losses and shutting up now," I trailed off lamely.

Guess I accidentally revealed my power level.

She didn't laugh outright, but I could tell that my awkward rambling had smoothed out the "fight or flight" response she had been building toward. She stared at me in silence just long enough that I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"No," she stated finally. "No, Sarah was my father's choice, but Lisa is what's on my birth certificate." There was clearly more to it than that, but I had the sense that both statements were true so I let it go. It was clear even to me that that was treading on dangerous ground. I attempted to inject some levity.

"Oh good, that was my next guess!" I winked exaggeratedly so she knew for sure I was joking. (Was I joking?) Her momentary vulnerability had unnerved me, and the warm mischievous smile that earned me was a vast improvement. "Anyway, pleased to meet you, Lisa. I'm-"

"Yeah, you're no Melissa."

 _... I'm interrupted. Okay._

The smirk was back. I think I did grimace a little at that point. "It's my turn, but I don't _need_ luck. Watch and be amazed as I get it in under five guesses!"

She was off in her own world.

"Sam... no. Robin... nah. Tina? Not quite. Then it's gotta be Taylor!"

What.

"What." For the second time that day in the same way, I found myself giving voice to the surprise I felt. "How..."

"I told you, I'm that good."

"So you're a Thinker." The words were out of my mouth before it even occurred to me that I shouldn't say them. She smirked indulgently.

"And so are you." I scowled at this. If she noticed... "Hey now, easy there girl, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who picked up on that; to everyone else, Uber and Leet were humiliated by a disgruntled normal." I wasn't sure that was any better. "And yes," she added in an aside, "that was both of them. Uber was the one in one in green."

"But that's stupid," was out of my mouth before I could even fully coalesce any real thoughts.

"Yes for both."

"So..." I trailed off, uncertain where this left us.

"So now that we've got that unpleasantness out of the way, I'm going to recommend you come up with a cape identity before you tangle with any other villains."

"But I wasn't really planning to be a cape," I protested half-heartedly.

"Of course you weren't. Just like you weren't eyeing that garish coat earlier. Between you and me, I think you could make it work, but it's a near thing."

Well shit.

"In the first place, what's a nice, obviously Hero-like girl doing out here in the middle of a school day anyway? Oh, could it be you walked out after some intense bullying? No, too proud for that. There _is_ bullying, but you just grin and bear it. A betrayal in some fashion. So for getting one over on the authority, then. But you've suffered and still have that do-gooder smell about you. A rare sort. Though you're in for a bit of culture shock with that thinking." She was... taunting me. It wasn't the finely-honed nastiness of Emma, but she was under my skin anyway and hadn't I already established that I was done with that sort of bullshit?

"What the hell is your angle!?" I hissed. A low whistle cut through the haze of my sudden fury. I've replayed this scene in my head countless times and I'm still not sure at what point I moved. At the time, I was more concerned with where the steak knife I was holding to her throat came from. And not just any steak knife. Hand-carved rosewood handle, elegant curves, and a poor tempering that kept me mindful of being too harsh with it. Yes, we were well acquainted indeed. I ‹knew› this knife.

 _Hello there, Tiny Tim. Fancy seeing you here._

Tiny Tim was a tool, not an instrument of war to be wielded in anger. And yet, for that fleeting instant, blade in hand, I was awash with an ineffable sense of rightness. Something like... purpose.

An instant is definitionally short, though, and before I could even begin to process the profundity of all that, Lisa - you know, the _girl with the knife to her neck?_ (That I was holding?) Yeah, her - Lisa shattered it with a nervous chuckle.

"H-hold on there, hero girl, I'm not your enemy." I blinked and my line of sight flicked about, assessing the situation before coming back to her eyes.

She was afraid.

Of me.

Not in the dull, distant sense, like "oh, Behemoth ate another city, what a terrible time we live in", or even the incoming but guaranteed "I just got another D on a math test and dad's gonna flip" either. This was the sort of primal, visceral terror that leads to one's life flashing before their eyes. You could cut the tension with a...

You know what? I'm just not going to finish that.

But neither did I finish Lisa's story there, as simple as it would have been. I'm still not sure if it was a _good_ idea, but I know that it was the ‹right› idea. Eyes wide, my own fear of who I was and what I could have just done finally capsizing the calm I was riding in the moment, I pulled back and relaxed, making a show of it as though she were a small animal instead of the cape who had been _taking me for a ride and I was gonna_ -

I clamped down on the anger that threatened to push me into doing something I would definitely regret. A tear worked it's way down my cheek, as if it wasn't already a super-corny "I'm a monster"-type scenario.

I swear, my life sometimes.

I took the risk of turning my head, not breaking eye-contact with the knife I'd set on the table between us until the articulation of my neck demanded it. Miraculously, no one else in the quiet café had noticed a thing. Either that was quiet enough that no one thought to raise an alarm or patrons pulling knives on other patrons was just sort of a thing that happened at Café Ahnenerbe and all the regulars were critiquing my form.

I exhausted the left and the right very quickly, leaving the steak knife the sole point of both our focus, a bizarre form of common ground between unexpected victim, hands flat on the table moving rhythmically in some sort of calming exercise, and accidental unconscious assailant (that's me, by the way), sweaty palms rubbing small circles in the thighs of her bluejeans. In our own way, in our own time, we both wrested control back from the brink of base instinct.

I opened my mouth to apologise. She interrupted me just before I made a sound.

"That."

"Huh?" Wow, eloquent, Taylor.

"That. That right there. That just now. You wanted to know my angle?" She moved and my gaze flinched upward to meet hers reflexively. "Because I couldn't predict that. Nothing about that." Her eyes were a far cry from the brilliant lively green that reflected so much mischief before. "It was like... before..." she trailed off.

"Before...?" She wasn't making sense, and clammed up at the worst possible time. "Come on, Lisa, snap out of it! I'm sorry I've had a stressful day to endcap a stressful year, and I'm sorry I took it out on you - I don't even know what came over me, I've never done that before, honest! - even if you _were_ being kind of a jerk about things. But unlike you, I can't read minds so if you want me to be more than a rubber duck in this conversation, you'll need to use words."

She took a deep breath.

"You guessed earlier that I'm a Thinker. And you're right: I'm a pretty damn good Thinker. I put together stray bits of information and inferences and evidence to make superhuman leaps of logic that are usually correct, or at least close enough that the model holds until I can gather more data. I can figure out most parahumans before they figure _themselves_ out."

"Sherlock Holmes is a cute blonde. Got it."

"Close enough. The thing is, you're... weird. Hazy. I can't read you. Not well. One moment you're like an ordinary person - I only pegged you as a parahuman because you being normal was too implausible - and the next..." she gestured subtly at the knife. "I'd ask 'what the hell are you?', but your body language tells me you're as confused as I am right now. Did you not know you can... project? Summon? That thing kind of hurts to look at, so I'm not sure..."

That had been bothering me too. For all that it _was_ the exact knife from my parents' gifted set, there was something about it that felt... fake. Yes, this was a ‹fake›. That label resonated with me in a way others did not. I nodded at Lisa's question and my conclusion at the same time.

"Yeah, I think you'd call it a projection. Though it has the precise existence of a knife from our drawer at home, it's a... copy."

"Right, well anyway, you have the distinct potential to be more scary than my... boss." She spat the word in a way that- "No, I _don't_ like him, but he's kind of got me by the proverbial balls. Not my point. The important thing is... just... it's probably asking too much to tell you to stay out of the Cape scene here in Bay. It already found you once just by accident. But try to lay low and stay small. Whatever you do, stay _off_ of Coil's radar. If you interfere with him the way you interfere with me, he'll try to kill you and you seem like a good person. How about we let _that_ be my payment for the earlier entertainment."

She didn't say it or even imply it, but I could hear the weight of a tragic past in her warning. I felt some degree of solidarity with her, because she was someone I could become far too easily.

That was the moment I realised that Lisa, in her own way, though she might not have even been conscious of it herself, was begging to be saved.

And I couldn't do anything.


End file.
